Blood Wolf: A Blödhgarm love story
by iSackettEcho
Summary: The title says it all. An ironic love story, to say the least.  Previously posted on SF3
1. Prologue: Blood Wolf

Blood Wolf: A Blödhgarm love story

Summary:

Blödhgarm, a powerful and intriguing elf spellcaster, once altered his appearance to match the eyes of an eagle, the coat of a forest cat, and the fangs of a wolf to conform to his ideas of splendorous beauty. Now assigned with his eleven elven spellweavers to protect Eragon and Saphira and living among the peoples of the Varden, Blödhgarm encounters a young women, named Aeryn, who has an usual kind of sight. Blödhgarm soon realizes that Aeryn cannot see him as he is, see his beauty of which he is so proud and vain. Through the turbulent times of Alagaesia, she teaches him the value of life, no matter how long or short of time, and how to love unconditionally beyond what is on the outside.

Names of Blödhgarm's eleven spellweavers:

**Finnén (m) **fair

**Fionúir (f) **ghost, spirit

**Fionnbharr (m) **fair haired

**Étaín (f) **jealousy

**Cearbhall (m) **brave in sword-fighting; valorous in battle

**Garbhán (m) **rough

Ivar (m) yew tree

**Lasairfhiona (f) **Lasairíona flame wine

**Ríona (f) **queenly

**Samhradhán (m) **summery person

**Nuala (f) **short of Fionnuala (white shoulders)

Prologue

Blood Wolf

Deep in the mystical forests of Du Weldenvarden, a beautiful elf and her young son walked among the towering trees. In the growing twilight, the elven woman's beauty sharpened to an even greater degree. Among the elves, she was considered to be one of the most beautiful to have ever graced the land of Alagaesia. So beautiful was she that the elves referred to her as Ildrid the Beautiful.

"You are so beautiful, mother," the young elf said, gazing up at his mother with deep admiration.

Ildrid the Beautiful turned to look down upon her son. "You are very beautiful as well," she remarked.

"But not like you," he insisted. "I'm quite normal and unspectacular."

"_Not_ unspectacular," she countered, a sharp edge in the tone of her voice. "Your natural skills with magic already show that you are anything but unspectacular."

As she spoke, she marveled at her son's yellow eyes. Bored with his common elven beauty and finding his brown eyes unappealing, he had altered them with the great magic he possessed. Now, yellow eagle eyes peered out from her small son's head.

"One day," he began, "when I am stronger, I shall also take up the blue pelt of the forest cat and the sharp fangs of the wolf. Then, I will be wild and beautiful."

Looking down at her son, she could imagine the alterations and how handsome and fearsome he would look. Indeed, he would be beautiful. But more importantly, he would be immensely powerful, for only a very few elves could alter their appearance so easily. He would rise, she was sure, to be one of the greatest spellweavers the elves had seen for many centuries.

Her son smiled at her then, exposing his perfect white teeth. Already his incisors were more pronounced and slightly longer than what was common.

"Remember this, though, Blödhgarm, beauty will not bring you happiness," she reminded him, as she often did. However, her admonishments were useless, for the elves deeply admired beauty.

"No, but perhaps beauty may attract one who can bring me more happiness," he countered with a grin that looked almost feral. As he spoke, his voice held the peculiar purr of the wild forest cat.

Still looking down at him, Ildrid the Beautiful was reminded of how well she had named her son. Blödhgarm meant Blood Wolf in the Ancient Language. And a blood wolf he surely was. Any elf who stared into his mystical eyes and heard his melodic howl would surely follow him, entranced, forever. And any elf maiden lucky enough to be caught in his teeth would be helplessly and lovingly his forever.


	2. 1 First Scent

1. First Scent

Blödhgarm peered through the tent opening to the Varden beyond. He sat on a crude stole just inside his tent, watching the faint red and orange sunrise in the eastern sky over the tents of the Varden. He opened his mind to stretch out over the surrounding camp. Eragon Shadeslayer still lay asleep in his tent. His fellow spellweavers began to wake, listlessly staring at the ceilings of their tents before rising to begin the Rigmar.

Nearby humans began to stir awake in their tents. One early-rising woman walked by towards the direction of the well, a bucket in hand. A cow mooed in the distance as an early-waking farmer patted its rump in greeting before starting the daily milking. Saphira Brightscales, he noticed, was awake, stretching her neck and licking her chops.

_Good Morning, Saphira Brightscale_, he greeted the young dragon.

_Blödhgarm,_ the dragon briefly greeted, her powerful voice rumbling through his mind.

Glancing back over the sleepy camp, he sighed, sounding more like a growl than the quick exhale of air. Blödhgarm was honored to receive the task of leading his spellweavers to protect the young Dragon Rider, but his patience with humans was strained.

_Weak, frivolous creatures,_ he thought with disdain. _So helpless, so foolish. _He ran his fingers through his blue fur, wondering how humans could stand to be so ugly, so… _unappealing_. At least, the young Dragon Rider had been transformed, receiving the strength and beauty of his elven race.

Rolling his shoulders, he stood, stretching to rid his body of its kinks and aches. The battle for Feinster had been long and tedious before Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales had arrived the day before. Ducking out of his tent, he gazed out over the tents of the Varden towards Feinster in the southern distance. Smoke still rose from within its confining walls. The long wait as Nasuada and her advisors chose their next course of action was long and agitating among the humans of the Varden. But as always, Blödhgarm endured and remained placid and silent.

Returning his gaze to the rising sun, he began the Rimgar. Slowly, as the sun continued to rise, he felt Eragon Shadeslayer and a few of his own spellcasters rise and begin their set of the Rigmar. Nearly completing his set, Blödhgarm felt sweat trickle over his skin under his fur. But his marvelous blue fur kept him cool and dry. _An excellent gift from the forest cat,_ he thought, remembering his early spells of transformation and his days amidst the magical forests of Du Weldenvarden.

Just as he finished his set, he heard a messenger running from Nasuada to deliver her orders to Eragon Shadeslayer.

A few moments later, Saphira Brightscales called, _Blödhgarm, Nasuada requires our presence in her tents._

_We shall follow, Saphira Brightscales_, he respectfully answered the dragon.

Calling to his companions with his mind, he flowed briskly behind the dragon as she leapt, with Eragon Shadeslayer on her back, over the tents of the Varden. Arriving at Nasuada's command tent, Eragon Shadeslayer jumped from his dragon's back and entered through the front opening. Blödhgarm and his spellcasters followed Saphira Brightscales around to the open side created specifically for her. Blödhgarm's elven companions stood sequestered around Saphira. Blödhgarm chose a spot near the entrance of the tent as Eragon took his seat near Nasuada's makeshift throne.

Nasuada already sat waiting in her chair. Arya Dröttningu was there also on the other side of her throne, standing still and picturesque as an elven artist's living statue. Jeod, one of the Varden's indispensable commanders, stood ready at the other side of the tent's entrance.

Blödhgarm's eyes returned to the Varden leader. A weariness and fatigue still clung to her since the Trial of the Long Knives. He did not like or respect many of the humans, but he held a deep respect for Nasuada. She was a strong-willed and courageous leader, with a wit and intellect that held her far above the rest.

Once everyone was gathered, Nasuada spoke. "Just this morning, a band of people arrived at the edge of our camp. I have allowed their leader and a few of his guards to enter the camp to come and meet with us now," she quickly explained before waving to her guards.

Two of the Nighthawks, the Varden leader's personal guard, pulled back the tent flaps. A man and a woman walked silently in together, their dark, flowing robes lending a graceful litheness to their movements. Four of their own warriors followed closely behind them.

Jeod spoke then, introducing the strangers to the Varden's leader. "May I present Nasuada, Leader of the Varden."

Nasuada stood as the strangers bowed. The man and the woman moved forward and bowed again, waiting expectantly. Unsure of their customs, Nasuada wavered for a moment before stretching forth her hand. The man and the woman in turn respectfully kissed her hand before stepping back respectfully.

The Lady Nightstalker, never being one the stall or delay with unnecessary pleasantries, asked, "Who are you and why have you come in search of the Varden?"

The man began, "Lady Nasuada, I am Nahlu, the leader of my people. This is my sister Aeryn. She is our guide and has led us across the wide sands to Eragon and Saphira."

At the introduction of her name, the woman stepped forward next to her brother and bowed again.

Though Blödhgarm did not look well upon humans, he found the diversity of their cultures and dress fascinating. The elves, with a few exceptions such as others like himself, dressed similarly, and all behaved alike with the utmost cordiality and respect. Blödhgarm's yellow eagle eyes flashed over the strangers, quickly observing them and clues to their culture.

The man Nahlu was tall and very young. His manners and gestures were polite and timid. He appeared to be unaccustomed to his authority, as if he had only recently inherited the great task of commanding his people. His smile was easy and inviting_. _For a human, Blödhgarm thought him deceptively charming, a charm that would make him seem unalarming and cause his enemies to underestimate him. Clarity of vision and direction showed from his sea green eyes. He was dressed in an outfit similar to other desert nomads—ornate brown fabric swathed his body to keep the hot sun from searing his mortal flesh, and a blood red turban flowed from around his head, down his back, to the ground by his leather boots. His dark tanned skin told of his long days under the brutal sun and gave him a somewhat handsome appearance by human standards. A single ring engraved with a crest encircled the middle finger of his right hand. Blödhgarm found his lack of weapons curious, for it possibly indicated a peaceful tribe.

The woman Aeryn was also young, but her gaze was bold. She was not timid as she stared from Nasuada to Blödhgarm, her eyes flickering over each of his spellweavers before finally resting her eyes on Eragon and Saphira, an impenetrable look in her eyes. Black fabric hung elegantly from her body, held in place at her arms and shoulder by bronze cuffs and clasps. Her skin was tanned golden by many days spent under the hot sun. Her brown hair was streaked gold by the sun and was pulled back from her face and swabbed in black fabric, secured by bronze clips. Though her gaze was fierce and intense, her eyes were soft brown and kind. A quiet wisdom glowed from her delicate, heart-shaped face. Her lips were stretched tight, as though she had been carrying a great weight on her shoulders and had yet endured with great determination.

Their guards were dressed in a similar fashion as the man, but with less elegance and with swords slung on their hips. Twin knives peeked from the top of their boots.

And, most importantly, Blödhgarm noticed that all their minds were shielded. Though he felt sure that he could easily subdue any one of their minds, their mental shielding suggested that there were magicians among them who had taught them elementary principles. Possibly, one of them might even be a magician. The girl specifically had an eerie, magical touch to her.

"You come then to join us then?" Blödhgarm heard Nasuada inquire as she sank back into her chair.

"Yes, my lady. We have come to stand with you in this fight against the tyranny of Galbatorix," the man Nahlu affirmed.

"And you come from far away?" Nasuada asked curiously.

"Yes, my lady," he answered. "We are a nomadic people, dwelling in the deserts and in the outer rims of the Beor Mountains."

"You must have many skills then to survive in places such as those," the Lady Nightstalker calculated.

"One might say such a thing," Nahlu hedged. "It has been difficult these past years. The warring land has stolen many of our people and laid them in an early grave."

"If you join us, the war will only steal away many more of your people," Nasuada challenged, for she always wanted to be sure of any man's loyalty and motives.

"Yes, this is true," Nahlu assented, a sadness brooding in his eyes, "but we have decided that it is better to die in the fight against tyranny than as the victims of it."

"A common answer," Jeod commented.

Nahlu's eyes flickered over the general. "Yes, it is a very true one," he agreed. "And a very human one."

Jeod opened his mouth to speak again, but Nasuada raised her hand to silence him. "The Varden will be happy to have more allies. However, it is required that you and your people swear loyalty to the Varden," she explained.

"Of course. It shall be done," Nahlu agreed.

Aeryn, who had remained silent throughout the entire exchange, stepped boldly forward, her gaze intent and unwavering on the Varden's leader. "If I may, Lady Nasuada, I would swear fealty only to Eragon and Saphira, for I prefer to trust only that which I can truly see."

_Presumptuous_, Blödhgarm thought disdainfully. _Know humans no respect?_

"You distrust me?" Nasuada questioned tersely.

Aeryn respectfully bowed her head. "You misunderstand me."

Nahlu placed a restraining hand on his sister's arm. "Aeryn has guided us here. For some time she has been following Eragon and Saphira through her…strange visions. Living in the deserts and in the fringes of the Beor Mountains as we do. We are naturally a mistrustful people. It is her request that she personally may swear only loyalty to Eragon and Saphira, as they are the ones who she has been watching through her…visions. She feels that it is simply more fitting," he diplomatically explained.

"What kinds of strange visions?" Eragon inquired then, breaking his silence. He sat straighter in his seat, curiosity plainly written across his face.

Nahlu shifted uncomfortably. "It is not something that I understand exactly, and it is something that Aeryn refuses to speak of."

_Some deceit afoot in her_, Blödhgarm scorned. _Surely a viper prancing around in the skin of a doe-eyed innocent._

Silence filled the tent for an interminable moment. At last, Nausada spoke. "I will consider your request."

Nodding her head towards Nahlu, she continued, "We will speak more of this later. For now, I am sure that your people are weary from travel. Jeod will help you make any necessary preparations for your people. I will send for you later today to speak with you further."

"Thank you, my Lady," Nahlu answered, bowing respectfully. Beside him, his sister bowed, a strand of her sun-bleached hair slipping from the restraining cloth and bronze clasps.

Turning to follow Jeod out of the tent, Nahlu and his sister passed close by Blödhgarm. He was so close to the entrance that Aeryn robes nearly brushed against him.

Suddenly, the girl halted. Her guards stopped behind her as her brother and his guards continued out of the tent. She sniffed the air, almost like an animal. Turning her head, her eyes locked with Blödhgarm's. She inhaled deeply again. "Your scent is unlike anything I have ever smelled. Alluring and wonderful," she said in a whisper that only he could hear. "But your disdain for this people taints it with an acrid rancor."

Blödhgarm stifled a growl, but then, she and her guards were gone, disappearing into the blinding morning sun and the awakening Varden. Only his spellcasters, Eragon Shadeslayer, Saphira Brightscales, and Nasuada remained in the tent. Several pairs of eyes, a confused and curious question in each, flicked momentarily to him before reverting to stare at the ground or to an empty spot on the tent walls.

Grinding his teeth, he wondered, _Was she mocking me?_ _How dare any human mock me!_ His blue fur bristled slightly under his agitation. _What did she mean? How could she assume or know anything of what I think? Her mind was as shielded as mine own._

After the strangers had left, Eragon Shadeslayer spoke first. "That was an interesting meeting."

Nasuada sighed. "And Aeryn's request…," she trailed off. "What do you think of it?"

Eragon Shadeslayer shook his head, "I don't know what to think of it."

_Aeryn seems to be one of influence among her people. Without her support, the others may not swear loyalty to you,_ Saphira Brightscales boldly voiced her opinion. _However, she had spoken for herself alone._

"Yes, but if the Varden is to remain as one, there must be one ruler, not two," Nasuada argued. "Only one to whom loyalty is sworn."

"Nahlu is clearly the leader and speaks for his people. Aeryn only guided them here," Eragon commented, his fingers absently rubbing his lower lip as he pondered. "I wonder what sort of visions brought her to us," he murmured.

_Her allegiance is not of great importance_, Saphira Brighscales said. _So long as Nahlu and his people are willing to swear fealty to Nasuada, it should not be a problem. And I for one like this Aeryn. She is bold, and I like bold, fearless creatures._

"I will speak with Nahlu again later," Nasuada waved her hand to the guards to allow Jeod to reenter. "I have many other matters to attend to until then. You may go for now, Eragon."

The young Rider eased out of his chair as Saphira snorted her assent, absently wafting smoke into the tent. Blödhgarm's lips tugged up into a small smile at the young dragon's apparent forgetfulness of her great power and strength among the humans and elves.

His face flattened of expression then. He hid a frown as an image flashed through his mind of the bold, elegant girl who spoke the most bewildering things.


	3. 2 Entranced Prey

Quick Story Note:

The names that I have chosen for Blödhgarm's eleven spellweavers and their meanings:

**Finnén****(m)**fair

**Fionúir****(f)**ghost, spirit

**Fionnbharr****(m)**fair haired

**Étaín****(f)**jealousy

**Cearbhall****(m)**brave in sword-fighting; valorous in battle

**Garbhán****(m)**rough

Ivar (m) yew tree

**Lasairfhiona****(f)**Lasairíona flame wine

**Ríona****(f)**queenly

**Samhradhán****(m)**summery person

**Nuala****(f)**short of Fionnuala (white shoulders)

2. Entranced Prey

Blödhgarm stormed through the camp. Though no emotion showed on his face or in his posture, the steady, heaving pounding of his feet on the hard-packed ground kept time with his pounding, passionate heart.

He was angry because of what the human girl Aeryn had said. He felt embarrassed because she revealed his true feelings, feelings that elves did not share. He also felt confused and frustrated, for no one should have been able to detect his disdainful feelings or his hidden prejudices, least of all a human girl with only the most rudimentary training in shielding her own mind. _And what strange visions did she mean? And being able to truly see?_

The thoughts plagued his mind, for the human girl made no sense. _Illogical, irrational, and arrogant as all human beings are, _he raged in his mind, trying to dismiss her from his thoughts.

Sometimes Blödhgarm disliked being an elf. Their polite ways clashed with the ideals of his forest animals. The forest cat did not lie down to his prey. The sharp-taloned eagle did not let his prey escape after it was ensnared in his grasp. And the wolf never left the scent and ignored the call of the hunt. The elves were tame and dull in comparison with the sweet blood lure of the chase and hunt. _For I am Blödhgarm, the Blood Wolf._

_But the elves are a beautiful, talented people,_ he amended. And for this reason, he remained content as he was, an elf. Even so, he could not stop himself from yearning for the older, more savage days of his race.

Before he could regain control over his tempestuous emotions, three young human girls surrounded him.

"Hello, Blödhgarm," the first said, batting her eyelashes at him. The second began to giggle uncontrollably, and the third remained silent, darting her eyes towards him before skittering away. "You look very well today," the first continued, as way of greeting.

"Ladies," Blödhgarm hummed in the human language, breathing deeply to maintain his temper. The silly girls and young women, and even a few old women, of the Varden pushed his patience to untested limits.

A group of four younger women joined the small entourage. "You smell wonderful today, Blödhgarm, as always," one of the four flirted, twisting a curl of her hair around her finger. Blödhgarm refused to look at any of them and instead lengthened his stride and quickened his pace.

As he walked briskly, one young woman, a seductive temptress, grabbed hold of his arm. Stifling a feral growl, he gently but firmly removed her hand from his forearm. Glimpsing a few more women veering towards him, he groaned inwardly. Once again, he wished that the elves were not such a polite and patient race. Though the attention would be flattering to any creature's base pride, their incessant chattering and flirting was more than any could rightly endure.

Approaching the elven tents, Blödhgarm saw six of his eleven companions gathered around a small fire outside their tents, preparing the morning meal. At seeing the swarm of human women around him, Etaín rose to her feet and strode forward, her black hair flaring out behind her as her dark eyes glinted with a dangerous fire. Upon seeing her, the human girls quailed and fell away one by one and turned away towards their own tents, fleeing like the haunted before the dark nightmare. Humans might not be able to understand why, seeing only the blank, expressionless faces of the elves, but an elf could still magically make an impression upon them, like a predator upon its prey.

_Jealousy_, Blödhgarm recalled the meaning of her name with amusement. Named for her mother's raging, brutal murder of her mate upon discovering his unfaithfulness, Etaín was the embodiment of jealousy, though her elven ancestry gave her the power to control and often hide her dark, cloudy emotions. However hard to hide them she might try, Blödhgarm always sensed her darker emotions and saw the raging seas in her eyes. This time, he smiled inwardly at her jealous attention. He knew she held a strong affection for him in her innermost heart. However, it was one that he was never able to return, though he found her very appealing and fascinating for her blunt and teasing manner.

"Eka elrun ono," he murmured with gratitude as he passed her, entering the largest of their tents, one set aside for collective usage. Inside, Cearball, his closest friend, lounged against one of the tent posts, brooding over an abused tome of dwarvin politics.

"Planning to be an ambassador to the dwarves after this, Cearbhall?" Blödhgarm darkly teased, hearing Etaín entered behind him.

"I've always been ambitions, I suppose," Cearbhall answered dryly without glancing up.

Etaín stooped over him, blocking his light from the tent entry. "I'm sure the dwarven women will be as much enamored with you as the human women are with Blödhgarm," she said, her seductive alto voice full of amusement.

Cearbhall finally looked up, grinning at his blue-furred friend. "So they are at it again, swarming you like flies to honey."

Etaín's musical laughter filled the tent. "How can you compare the Blood Wolf to honey? He is too feral to be the honey. Don't you know, he's the hunting wolf!" she sung, snatching the abandoned tome from his hands.

Blödhgarm heard Cearbhall chuckle softly as he stooped by his cot to search for his wooden flute sung from a tree in the forests of Du Weldenvarden. "The Blood Wolf's entranced prey," he said, his voice a steady baritone as he spoke in the Ancient Language.

Blödhgarm growled. "It's annoying." Despite the menace in his voice, a faint smile stretched across his lips. Finally, his fingers found and brushed over the polished wood of his flute.

Cearbhall laughed again. "I doubt a wolf ever tires of catching his prey." His high brow raised as he waited for his friend's reply.

Standing and straightening to his full height, Blödhgarm cocked a furry eyebrow at his friend. "Perhaps, the wolf enjoys the prey that run. The point of the hunt is the chase," he contradicted, his deep voice flat with an unidentifiable hint of danger.

"Of course," Cearbhall grinned before reaching to pluck his book from Etaín's loose fingers.

A faint breeze brushed over Blödhgarm's fur, and a faint scent of chilly, moonless nights and of jasmine, the night flower, tickled his nose as the tent flap was pushed aside. Fionúir glided into the tent, light as a breeze. Blödhgarm nodded towards her in acknowledgment as she approached before turning back to Cearbhall. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, Fionúir was suddenly at his side. Blödhgarm's blue fur bristled at her sudden approach. _Her name fits well_, he thought, for her name meant ghost spirit. _And like a spirit, she appears and vanishes almost at whim, her very presence less encroaching than a ghost's_. Indeed, the dark elf was often silent and brooding.

"These human girls tire me," she said, her voice a willowy whisper.

"Do not be afraid, Fionúir, for Etaín has scared them all away," Blödhgarm's voice lilted, his razor sharp fangs showing from his feral grin.

"Yes," Etaín hummed, "and you would fare well not to forget it." The look in her eyes said a myriad of forbidden things. Blödhgarm ignored her gaze, refusing to acknowledge what he saw there, for he knew he would never return her affection or her desire. Indeed, he had avoided the last Blood-Oath Celebration partially because of her. Turning back to Cearbhall, he heard her leave. Glancing around the tent, he noticed that Fionúir was suddenly gone too, vanished like the spirits.

Cearbhall huffed out a breath of air, a faint whistle sounding from it. "Yet another prey ensnared," he said to Blödhgarm, flipping once again through the thick tome in his hands.

Blödhgarm sighed with irritation.

"Ah, my friend," Cearbhall's steady, calm voice returned as he looked up from his page, "I mean no insult. I merely mean to say that you are one of the most fortunate of elves, never in want of a partner and mate. All you would have to say is the word, and any would be yours." As he spoke, he abandoned the book, tossing it onto the earthen floor, and stood to his feet to grasp his friend's arm. "I've known you a long time, Blödhgarm, and though elves may roam alone, wolves do not." He paused a moment, glaring with a deep sincerity into the yellow eyes of the magnificent eagle, the eyes of his friend. "The Blood Wolf was not meant to wander alone," he finished, his voice ringing gravely.

Blödhgarm said nothing in reply, simply taking in his friend's words and counsel with infliction or judgement.

Removing his arm from his friend's shoulder, Cearbhall prompted, "When will you at last take a mate?"

Without answering, Blödhgarm turned to leave the tent, his cherished flute in hand. Before opening the tent flap, however, he turned slightly and said over his shoulder, "Perhaps I am not the one who needs to do the ensnaring. Perhaps, it is I who needs to be the one ensnared."

Cearbhall laughed then. "Whoever captures you must be quite the creature to behold."

Blödhgarm shook his head with hidden amusement. "Go back to your tomes," he growled fondly, pushing aside the tent flap.

Outside, fair-haired Fionnbharr, simmering Etaín, tranquil Ivar, and pale Nuala sat scattered around the fire where a sweet smelling vegetable stew brewed. Fionnbharr and Nuala tended the stew as Etaín watched the bustling Varden and Ivar absently strummed his lyre. Wondering where the rest of his elves were, Blödhgarm sat beside Ivar, moving his fingers lazily over the flute's numerous holes as he began a well-known lament of doomed lovers, still unsettled and slightly irked by Cearbhall's honest words. Ivar's quick ear picked up the tune, and he instantly joined in, weaving his harp music with the flute's song.

As the song wove together and strained to be heard over the mid-morning bustle of the Varden, Blödhgarm pondered his conversation with Cearbhall. Without intention, an unwelcome image of the girl Aeryn came to mind, her tanned face close to his as she whispered of his scintillating scent and reeking arrogance. At the thought, Blödhgarm's fingers slipped and missed several notes, his mood ruined.

Ivar glanced up in surprise. Blödhgarm felt his eyebrows pulling together to form a knot between his eyes. "I apologize, Ivar, but I am no longer in the mood to play."

Rolling onto the balls of his feet, he stood and strode angrily to the fire, frustrated that he could not escape from her dizzyingly confusing words. Freezing mid-step, he stared into the flames of the small cooking fire, breathing deeply as he imagined releasing his anger and irritation into the fire itself. Instead, the fire in the pit blazed in time with the increasing heat of his blazing inner fire.

_The fire never leaves_, he realized. _The fire has always been there, the source of my magic and power. _He felt the fire blaze even hotter_. I am as powerful as my mother once prophesied I would be._

At the thought of his mother, his mind calmed and his suffocating emotions smothered into a smoldering ash. Suddenly, he was flooded with memories his home, of the peaceful, luring forests and his late hours scouring the forest for all the beauty he could find. _Beauty_, he sighed_. Beauty I know well_, he grinned, showing his fangs and bristling his fur with pride.


	4. 3 Blind Sight

3. Blind Sight

The glaring red sun slowly fell from the sky, spent from its long day's work tormenting the weak creatures of the world and coaxing small green plants from the barren earth. Blödhgarm stood leaning against the main post of the elves' common tent, watching entranced as the sun sprayed the evening skies with the day's dying colors. Without even a twitch of movement or sound, Blödhgarm stood as silent and still as the statutes in the gardens of Ellesmere, watching the artist's display in the dying light. A chill wind blew over him, gently lifting and buffeting his blue fur.

As he continued to watch, the sky grew darker and the air colder as night made its presence further known. Soon, the light from the camp's fires cast greater light than that from the setting sun. At last, Blödhgarm sighed, turning away from the last smoldering light of the day. _Like the smoldering of a dying fire, so ends the day_, he thought.

As he bent to enter the large tent, he heard a quiet voice ask, "Is Eragon Shadeslayer, Rider of Saphira, here?"

Swiveling around on his heel, he saw the woman Aeryn boldly addressing one his spellcasters, Samhradhán. The elf, like his name suggested, was the embodiment of summer. His hair was light as the summer's morning sun, and his disposition was sunny and friendly, his expressions always full of summer mystery and mischief, though these details were no doubt lost on weak human eyes.

_A bold one_, Blödhgarm thought. Humans, except for the women attracted by his scent, kept their distance from the mystical elves. _And an annoying one_, he added to himself as he watched them.

"He is not here just now," he heard Samhradhán explaining.

Blödhgarm growled to himself as he turned away once again. The young Rider's desire to be to himself made his task of protecting him difficult. After the shade at Feinster, Eragon Shadeslayer had been more compliant with his spellcasters' wishes, yet still he slipped away with his beloved dragon, Saphira.

"Could you please give him a message, then?" she asked tentatively. Blödhgarm glanced over his shoulder to watch her. Tonight, she was wrapped in a thick cloak of animal fur. _Distgusting_, Blödhgarm thought, clenching his sharp teeth. _Barbaric as all humans_. Her hands gasped a staff of worn, carved wood. The flames from their camp's fire glowed on her tan skin and highlighted the bronze strands of her hair that were now loose and cascading over her shoulders. Despite the dead carcass draped over her shoulders, he could not deny that she looked regale in the blazing light of the fire. _She looks almost… wild_. He relished the thought, for he had always loved wild things… the vicious forest cat, the regale eagle, the feral wolf.

"Certainly," he heard Samhradhán answer, watching him bow slightly.

"It is a custom of my people," she explained, "for the leader to send his woman—or if he has no woman, his closest relative—to invite those he wishes to ask to dine with him. My presence here is a sign of trust and friendship from my brother, our leader. And he has sent me to request of Eragon Shadeslayer and his dragon Saphira to dine with our people on the 'morrow."

Samhradhán politely bowed again, all of summer's gaiety slipping it his smile. "I will deliver your message."

"Thank you," she nodded, quickly curtsying and turning to walk away.

Blödhgarm continued to watch as she walked silently away. As she passed into shadow between two rows of tents, a burly man twice her size and carrying a load of wood fumbled towards the path between the tents. Not noticing her small form, he bumped into her, knocking her to the ground. In his hurry, the man did not notice her or hear her surprised cry. Wincing, Aeryn pushed herself off the ground and onto her knees.

_Such weaklings, humans are,_ Blödhgarm thought, swallowing his disdain.

He nearly turned away from her again, but he noticed something that caused him to stop. In the dark, he saw that she was patting the ground around her, much like a blind man would to search for a lost object. On the ground next to her lay her staff, just out of her reach. Blödhgarm's keen eyes could clearly see the staff in the shadows as easily as he would have seen it in the daylight. However, he felt sure that even in the light of the dying sunset, a human would be able to see the staff. It was then that he noticed the eerie fixation of her eyes. He inhaled sharply at the realization.

Feeling pity for the blind girl who hid her impairment so well, he walked towards her. As he knelt to pick up her staff, she locked eyes with him. Blödhgarm twitched as she made eye contact. _But she _is _blind_, he thought, bewildered.

"You are blind," Blödhgarm asked, making his question sound like a statement. Gently, he pressed the staff into her hands.

She mutely accepted her staff from his hands, her eyes remaining locked on his.

"You hide it well," he conceded when she did not answer.

As she slowly stood to her feet, she confirmed, "Yes, I am blind."

"Yet you are looking into my eyes. Someone who is blind cannot make eye contact." This time his statement sounded more like a question.

"I can see some things," she replied, "but not in the normal sense. I can see you, Eragon and Saphira, and your spellcasters. You are all as bright as day, as bright as the sun. Some are brighter than others. Some glow faintly, like Nasuada, my brother, and the lesser spellcasters. I cannot see what you look like, but I can see your essence, your power, your form, the faint color of your emotions. I can see where your eyes should be, same as I can see that your arms are down by your sides now. Most others, though, I cannot see, nor can I see the land beneath my feet."

"Fascinating," Blödhgarm breathed. "I wonder how."

Aeryn shrugged. "It seems that I have always been like this when around one with magic. I saw the glow of Eragon and Saphira even from far away, from the land of my birth. I led my brother and our people here."

"That was brave, considering that you are blind," Blödhgarm complimented, a thing he rarely did.

She shrugged again. "I had my brother there to protect me. And others of my people look after me as well."

"You are special among them?" he asked, tilting his head to the side in his interest.

"I led them here. I was their guide," she answered simply. "But I suspect that I will now be of no importance, as we are at last here. I will only be important because of who my brother is."

"I see," Blödhgarm hummed.

"It is the way of things, I suppose," she said with an absent-minded wave of her hand.

Aeryn's simple acceptance of things as they were intrigued Blödhgarm, and it worried him. "Humans forget their own too easily and too often," he said. "Your gift is rare and unexplainable. You would not be forgotten among the elves."

"Perhaps," she murmured. "But would I be a source of intrigue for my strange ability of seeing, or because of simply who I am?"

"Is not the one the same as the other? How you see is what brought you here. You are defined by your people because they followed you," he philosophized, his brow scrunched together in confusion at her question.

"They followed me for my sight, not for who I am. I am no leader. My brother leads. He decided we should come, and I just told them where to go," she pointed out. "I am not important. My use has been completed. Among your people I would be nothing more than an intriguing trinket, a pet perhaps. I wish to be loved for who I am, not how I see," she gently explained. "And if not, I would rather my name be forgotten and disappear from the world."

"Your race is too short-lived to wish to be gone and forgotten," he answered, an overwhelming vehemence against her cursed mortality rising his stomach.

"But what point or joy would there be in even the shortest of lives if one is unloved?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

For the first time, Blödhgarm had no answer for a human. _Humans are so ridiculously emotional and self-important…. But this one, this one is wise._ As he glanced over her with new eyes, he realized how incredibly vulnerable she truly was. His eyebrows bunched together with his close scrutiny. Her cloak slipped off one shoulder. He watched as she shivered from the cold—the cold that never bothered him—and tugged the cloak back over her shoulder. _So wise and yet so fragile…. The weakest and most fragile of humans cloaked and hidden in the regality of an invincible queen._

A hard glint entered Aeryn's eyes. "Do not dare to pity me," she glowered, a sharp edge in her voice, her nostrils flaring like an angry wild horse. "I am the way that I am. This does not scare me, so there is no need for pity."

Blödhgarm stiffened, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with her easy ability to read and understand his emotions. "Forgive me," he replied, his answer more curt than he intended.

Her face softened then. "I suppose that I am a hard one to become accustomed to," she sighed, her lips turning up in a sad, understanding smile.

Blödhgarm's stance relaxed.

In the silence that followed, Aeryn blinked a few times, as if trying to clear the vision that she did not have.

"If you would be so kind, would you point me in the right direction?" she asked, blushing as she stared down at where she knew her feet to be.

"I will do better and lead you back myself," Blödhgarm offered.

"That would be kind," she accepted. "If, that is, it would not be too much trouble."

"No trouble," he answered, his voice just above a purr.

She reached out her hand for him and looped her arm under his. Blödhgarm resisted the urge to pull away, unaccustomed to the closeness human boundaries allowed. Elves usually kept their distance, even with some of their closest friends.

Blödhgarm meant to lead her in silence, but she soon started a new line of conversation.

"So you are an elf?" she asked, glancing briefly up at him.

"Yes," he answered without ridicule.

A slight smile touched her lips. "I'm sure I sound silly for asking, but…," she trailed off, touching the corner of her eye with her free hand.

Blödhgarm's lips turned up into a faint smile. "Of course," he assented.

"Where do you call home?" she asked, again looking up into his face, truly seeing him in the only way she could.

"In the forests of Du Weldenvarden," he told her, feeling a longing to once again be in the dark, magical forests.

"I have heard many strange things of the elven realm. Is it really so strange as they say?" she asked.

"No, not so strange," he began, leading her around a grouping of tents and into a new row. "It is magical, though. Everything hums with life. Colors, animals, plants—everything is brighter and more majestic." His voice turned deep and melodic as he told her of the many wonders of the forests of Du Weldenvarden. He spoke without reserve, and he described every detail of the forests to the blind girl who was listening.

When he finished his stories his home, he glanced down at Aeryn. Her blind eyes seemed to be staring far away into the distance, as if she could really see what lay so far away. Her head was tilted to one side.

Though it was impolite to ask, Blödhgarm could not stop himself as he asked, "You are melancholy. What are your thoughts?"

"I've spent all my life," she began hesitantly, "hearing of what other people can see. At first, the jealousy and pain my blindness caused me to be angry and to hate those who could see. But then, I realized that the world is full of all kinds of beautiful and wonderful things, and most of them were not what they would tell me of when I asked them to describe what they saw."

Blödhgarm furrowed his brow, but he did not speak.

Aeryn laughed lightly. "I can feel your confusion." Blödhgarm smiled as she explained, "Everyone would tell me of everything beautiful they could see, but each time they missed what was right in front of them.

"There was a ridiculed woman among my people once," she continued to explain, her voice steady yet hesitant. "She was nearly crippled, and her face was distorted from when a wild animal had attacked her. But this woman had the most beautiful heart. She gave when no one else was looking, and only I saw because I could see past the ugliness of her face.

"When they told me of the beauty of the world, no one told me of this woman's heart, or the love the young boy in the town felt for a young girl." She paused, her brown eyes clouding with some hidden emotion. "No one told me how a mother's heart beats when she first looks upon her newborn child, or the courage men have in their hearts when they must face death to protect their families.

"They told me everything I was missing, but really, it was they who were missing the real beauty of the world, the real beauty of life," she concluded, lifting her head to meet his eyes.

In that moment, Blödhgarm had no words. Though he said nothing, he was sure that she could feel and understand his jumbled feeling over her words.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and asked, "Is there really nothing at all that you would wish to be able to see?"

A light smile tugged at her lips. "I suppose I must admit that there is one thing…," she trailed off.

"Yes?" he prompted, leaning in closer to her, curious for her answer.

"I suppose if I could see one thing, I would want to see the stars," she answered wistfully.

Blödhgarm smiled. "A wise choice," he hummed.

Suddenly, he realized that they had reached the tents of where her people were gathered. Aeryn noticed as he slowed his pace.

"Until tomorrow, master spellweaver," she said in farewell.

"Blödhgarm," he corrected without thinking.

"Goodnight then, Blödhgarm," she replied sweetly, releasing his arm as she ran her hand over the side of the tent for guidance. Without another word, she slipped into her tent and out of the cold night air.

He sighed then, releasing the breath that he noticed he had been holding. Confusion washed over him as he walked back towards his tent. Her words and thoughts on life were new to him, different from anything that he had ever really learned or considered in his life. His mother had been Ildrid the Beautiful. The elves were obsessed with beauty. Du Weldenvarden was the most beautiful, magical, and entrancing place on earth. And now, suddenly, he wasn't sure if any of it actually mattered.


End file.
